In the death of this mind,
many dream you will find.
Not one of them good,
not one divine.
In this, the heart of the demons land,
this is where I plant the seed.
The seeds of doubt, that formed this land,
have made chains unseen,
to bind me to this mind.
The devil sits and I by his side
smile as the lost souls die.
I listen to tormented screams
and anguished cries of pain
yet I still mix the pot
with the iron chain.
In the death of this mind
many thing you will find.
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